


Everything Was Blue (Indigo)

by Annibellee



Category: Homestuck
Genre: get ready for some Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 04:24:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11176965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annibellee/pseuds/Annibellee
Summary: I just couldn't help it. I needed to go into his room, to face that I was just going to have to live without him.





	Everything Was Blue (Indigo)

     You would think his favorite color was blue.

  
     I walked into the room, making it hardly further than the doorway.

 **  
**      If you didn’t know him you’d be right, it was blue, but if you knew him like I did, it was _indigo_.

 **  
**      I painted it with him, disregarding droplets that seeped into the carpeting and through our bare fingers. It gave an excuse to do something else together, he mused, before we ripped it up and replaced it with wood. He whined for a month about how he wished we had just re-carpeted.

 **  
**      He told me once, after his brother, he’d forgotten how to see the color of his walls, and to this day I’m not sure what exactly that meant.

 **  
**      It’s been a year, four months, and twelve days and still his essence lingers. I’m almost ashamed that I didn’t see the clouds looming. They’ve grown. I wonder if one day they’ll consume the entire space, making the air too thick to breathe, crawling under the door and the hardwood floor to swallow me whole.

 **  
**      Maybe he had felt that way, like he couldn’t breathe in the first place.

 **  
**      I conquer the tight feeling in my chest and push on, telling myself that he had to do this every day, whether he felt this way or not. (He had to have,) Even with the dark blue -  _indigo_  walls, the room almost seems to be blank, but you don’t see what I see. I see the scuff marks by the dresser, from the time he was so high he tripped and scraped his watch on the ground. I see the tick marks on the side of his nightstand, closest to his bedside. I used to not see them until I did, and even then I pretended not to.

 **  
**      If I’d told him what I saw, I wonder, would he explain them? There were so many, some deeper than others. Some were colored reddish brown, some only wooden. I didn’t have the heart to clean up. I don’t think I will for a long time. His sheets were halfway off the bed still, and still  _indigo._ I felt silly for making note, as if the abandonment would change their color. He was far away when it happened, but I couldn’t even touch anything before, when he ran in the first place.

 **  
**      I wanted to smack Kurloz then, however selfish of me that was, to want to slap a dead kid. I know it wasn’t really his fault, he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

 **  
**      He didn’t mean to die.

 **  
**      I remembered then, cleaning out his room with Gamzee, cleaning out _his_ nightstand to find needles, upon needles, upon needles.

 **  
**      Maybe he did mean to.

 **  
**      Regardless, he hadn’t intended to hurt his brother. He loved him so much. He always had. A picture of Kurloz on the dresser, from before I knew them, stood. When the kid still smiled.

 **  
**      When I was still allowed in this room.

 **  
**      I wanted to curse Meulin, who cared so little about her sons. She didn’t deserve her boys, she never did. I used sometimes wonder how they made it past infancy. Maybe it wasn’t always that way, where she cared more about her TV than she did about them. I wouldn’t know. Gamzee refused to discuss it.

 **  
**      Despite this, no matter how much he claimed he hated her, when she died Gamzee wouldn’t let me toss her TV. Instead, to this day, it lays next to his closet. He never turned it on.

 **  
**      I thought back to middle school, when he found his new best friend. Oh man, he loved those pills, the _indigo_ kind _._ He told me one day, completely out of it, that he thought they were made for him. hat the universe knew. 

     They still litter his desk. He loved them more than himself, I think, because they made him forget that he  _was_ himself.

 **  
**      I should have _known_ he’d fall back on them.

 **  
**      His lamp had an  _indigo_ bulb that was never bright, only giving the room a soft glow, even with its translucent shade. I stared a it, tempted to wipe some of the dust off. It hadn’t been used in so long, I question if it still works. I didn’t want to move anything an inch, fearing that if I did the clouds would dissipate and I’d lose him forever, entirely.

 **  
**      We’d been celebrating my stupid promotion the last time light touched this room. It didn’t matter, but he insisted on taking off work so that we could appreciate it, to make it a night I'd never forget. He wanted to show me how proud he was of me, alone with him and enough alcohol to last a month. I was too drunk myself to notice he drank everything I didn’t, and the next morning neither of us could see past our hangovers.

 **  
**      The left side of the bed is where he slept, the blankets remain askew. I sat on the floor next to them, then belatedly realized how far into the space I had ventured. I thought of nights he would sneak out and climb through my window, and then into my bed when we were kids. A time before I was still his source of comfort, before the smoking, the drugs, and the drinking were his shoulder.

 **  
**      Looking up, I see posters covering his ceiling, snorting at no one about his odd obsession with clowns. It was, to me, by far his weirdest quality.

 **  
**      We got the one directly above his bed at a convention when we were fifteen, one of the best days of my life. I only saw him happier once, the day of our high school graduation. I remember the sun glittering off of the tears that rolled down his smiling cheeks. He'd turned away from everyone else who was celebrating, a somber but relieved look on his face, mulling over his accomplishment. I think it was the only time he'd ever been proud of himself in his life.

 **  
**From here on the floor I can see into his slightly ajar closet, and couldn’t help from laughing. I recalled playing “pin the tail anywhere” with him in the tiny space of his old apartment closet. We smoked inside, and our eyes were misty as we accidentally jabbed one another, laughing and ending up on the floor, staring up into a forest of shirts.

 **  
**My eyes were misty again and I swear I could have lit a cigarette right there, to feel like he was there again. This room was getting to me.

 **  
**I got up. Maybe next year it would hurt less.

 **  
**      “Happy birthday,” I whispered to no one before closing the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially this was an assignment for school, and I ended up changing a little of it, but yes you should feel sucker punched


End file.
